Guilty Pleasure
by CompanionToMisterHolmes
Summary: We all have a truly guilty pleasure. And Molly Hooper is no exception. Established Sherlock/Molly. Cheesy pop songs of the 90's. Post Reichenbach (very few spoilers). A little bit of fluff and sentiment and probably terribly OOC. I'm new at this so be gentle. (like one almost swear word)


We all have a truly guilty pleasure.

Some people are secretly kinky, others will read 50 Shades of Grey on the tube as an act of rebellion, some may even find their guilty pleasure when dipping chocolate into their tomato soup. But for most, it's as simple as a silly film, TV show, or a song (that's hardly classed as music).

For one Molly Hooper, whom despite appearances had an eclectic, fair and slightly beautiful taste in music (and men), enjoyed nothing more than dancing atrociously to a long remembered routine and singing (in perfect pitch I might add) along to 'Everybody (Backstreet's Back)' by The Backstreet Boys. Although she found the lyrics slightly abysmal, the grammar awful and she loathed the incorrect use of double negatives; Molly would enjoy nothing more than indulging this guilty pleasure. She would pander to the urge on many occasions, this cheesy pop song could cheer her up or enhance her already cheerful mood, it could be especially giggle inducing (even if it was simply Molly laughing at herself) when delving into a particularly tedious y-incision; even if when using a scalpel dancing can be limited.

It would be best to point out at this point, that after the fall of Sherlock Holmes; Molly's guilty indulgence could not be partaken in within her own home, under the scrutiny of the supposedly dead detective. Also due to the fact that within that time Molly had finally won over the heart of the 'world's only consulting detective' she found that even after the resurrection of Sherlock Holmes she had little alone time at home; so her guilty pleasure (wanting it to be hidden from a certain someone) was pushed amongst the deathly silence and aloneness that she treasured within her morgue.

1 year after Sherlock's resurrection and 1 year, 3 months and 16 days into Molly's somewhat stable, happy, loving and surprisingly sentimental relationship with the aforementioned detective; Molly was 3 hours into her working day and contemplating what a fantastically … boring day it had been so far. Although Molly was on her only half day of her working week and was allowed the indulgence of a lie-in, she had still awoken at the fairly early time of 9am and with the absence of both Sherlock and electricity in her flat her only choice was to delve into a good book; a thought that was soon deflated when she realised her current enthralling read along with most of her preferred literature was scattered around the rooms of 221b Baker Street. The only fleeting moment of comfort that came from this realisation was the thought of how simple, comfortable and lovely it was to just read in the presence of her boyfriend; so silent and calm amongst the otherwise chaos of 221b.

With Molly's shift starting at 1pm, it didn't allow her much in the way of time to venture anywhere before she had to set off to St. Bart's… so in the true fashion of bored women everywhere, Molly took an extra long relaxing shower, she took her time when choosing the day's outfit (not a usual luxury Molly could afford when in a rush to get out the door) and finally applied experimental amounts of make-up in varying styles and degrees of severity, before using her final 3 make-up wipes to restore herself to what she supposed was her own natural beauty '_of sorts'… _then off to work it was.

Now, Molly stood in front of her 4th ' died of natural causes' of the day, bored and full of extra – with need to be released- energy.

"Why can't there just be a nice interesting, suspicious and stimulating murder?" Molly mumbled to herself, "Oh goodness me, I sounded just him then… and that's not the most desirable of personality traits to emulate!"

That's when it hit her, well more glinted at her from within her peripheral vision; her iPod… her guilty pleasure, if anything was going to liven up her day it would be the Backstreet Boys. As she walked over to her desk, plugging her iPod into the overhead speakers that would fill the total silence with the upbeat and brash sound of her best-loved cheesy pop song, Molly giddily spoke to the empty room "Backstreet's certainly back!"

As soon as she hit play, mousey Molly Hooper became engulfed in her own little world, dancing (if you could call it that) over to the tray of sterile instruments and fumbling into her favoured variety of gloves, she set about with number 4.

**Patient's Name: John Smith**

"Gosh, even your name's quite boring"

**Alleged C.O.D: Heart Failure/ Old Age**

_"Exhilarating." _She said rolling her eyes.

With 'her jam' on repeat Molly swayed and sang to the 90's music, her day brightening bit by bit as she focused upon her mundane workload for the final hour of her day.

Sherlock Holmes, 1 year, 3 months and 16 days into a relationship and letting his levels of sentiment grow with each day in Molly's presence, would hate to admit it, but he rather bloody missed his… _girlfriend_… his Molly Hooper. So after a week-long case in Liverpool which had taken him away from her smile (and only for a 6) he was happy, for once, to return to the calming ignorance of London with no immediate case loads or experiments to do.

An advantage of being 'the one and only' Sherlock Holmes was being able to memorise you're girlfriend's shift pattern, and therefore knowing Molly would be at work for roughly another hour and unable to wait for a kiss after a week long's forced abstinence (he'd become quite partial to the intimacies and enjoyment that came for kissing Molly Hooper) he made his way to Bart's.

Hidden within his Belstaff coat as an extra surprise to Molly upon his arrival, was a Liverpool themed present, a Beatles record, as he knew Molly loved the band and listening to the classics on vinyl.

What Sherlock hadn't expected when walking down the usually quiet halls that lead to morgue, was the muffled sound of a much less classic boy band; brushing the annoying tones off as one of Molly's colleague's choices, he strode, quiet as a mouse, into the overwhelmingly loud morgue. Faced with a sight he could only wish he was able to film, without gaining a slap across his left cheek, he watched Dr. Molly Hooper singing into her pen, exceptionally well considering the song choice; and dancing in a fashion that most would consider embarrassing, or if not embarrassing, with lack of skill certainly, towards her desk.

The poor syntax of the song combined with its grammatical failings, made Sherlock curious as to how this insipid song could put such a guilty smile upon his Cambridge educated, English Literature Society's president, grammar-loving girlfriend's face.

"Aha," he proclaimed. "A guilty pleasure of yours, is it Molly? I was under the misconception that it was my job to make you smile like that."

Horrified at the unmistakable baritone voice booming from behind her, Molly immediately scrabbled with her iPod putting a halt to the music that was filling each corner of the room. Sinking her shoulders in shame she turned on her heels to face the undoubtedly smug man behind her, who was the last person she would want to have witnessed her escapade.

Seeing the dejected look upon his love's face Sherlock wanted to wipe away any thoughts of embarrassment or shame that he may have caused in the pathologist.

"You know, you sing so beautifully, it makes my non-existent heart swell… I just thought you preferred the classics." At this Sherlock produced the Beatles' 'A Hard Day's Night' on vinyl from the large expanse of his coat; the record that would complete Molly's beloved collection. The shy smile that grew into an excited beam upon Molly's petite lips eased Sherlock's mind, causing him to think that this whole love thing can't be that bad, if each time he made her smile could feel so marvellous.

Practically running the short distance towards him, Molly threaded her delicate fingers into the stray curls on the nape of Sherlock's neck and kissed him firmly, yet a little to briefly for his liking. Maintaining their close proximity she spoke softly against his lips.

"You're brilliant, it's the one I've been looking for, my favourite, and you're just so perfect and… brilliant."

She then satisfied Sherlock's need with a longer more passionate kiss.

"I could certainly get used to this welcome home, even the dancing. I've missed you."

"Me too, to both, well maybe not the dancing."

Holmes and Hooper spent the rest of Molly's half day, listening to the Beatles, dipping in and out of easy conversation, exchanging sweet, lazy kisses and reading the novels Molly would forever leave behind. It was a comforting end to an otherwise tedious and somewhat weird day for the both of them.

* * *

Molly had not noticed Sherlock on his phone that lazy evening 2 weeks ago; but whilst ringing him in the midst of a busy working day, so he could inspect the body of the possibly murdered Sandra Charlton, Molly heard the unmistakable sound of her guilty pleasure echoing throughout the halls that lay just beyond the double doors. As it stopped Molly heard Sherlock's through both her phone's receiver and from just behind the doors, "I'm here, Molls."

That's right, The Sherlock Holmes had finally let sentiment into his stony exterior that night two weeks ago. Giving Molly a personalised ringtone reminded him of his Molly Hooper; flushed cheeks, broad smiles, bad dancing, beautiful voice and sweet chaste kisses caught in the chaos of cases; guilty pleasures and all.


End file.
